


Temaren Sill

by Olorisstra



Series: Nobody Wins 'verse [2]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-22
Updated: 2016-05-01
Packaged: 2018-06-03 17:52:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6620476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Olorisstra/pseuds/Olorisstra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Short fics about my OC, Knight Peacekeeper Temaren Sill.</p><p>Rating is M because of problematic themes including war, sacrifice, mind manipulation and plain manipulation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> My thanks, always and forever, to meabhair for giving this look and pointing out the most glaring typos to me.

"We need that blockade breached, General Sill." Senior General Yijl voice lisped with his native accent, but it was still perfectly understandable. "You yourself can feel all the lives who are disappearing from the Force with every second that we dally here."

Temaren said nothing, just waiting for his orders. The command desk was almost deadly quiet, emptied by his order at the mental suggestion of Senior General Yijl, one he had heeded without question. 

Well, not _just_ him. Commander CT-4-1609 too, but he was skulking in the shadows where the Senior General couldn't see him. The Commander had refused to be removed from his post and Temaren had ended up giving in to him, even though he was aware he really shouldn't have.

"Yours is the most forward position in our fleet." Senior General Yijl added.

A frisson ran down Temaren's back, the Force suddenly starting to almost squawk in swelling outrage around him. He knew what was coming. He knew it as sure as he knew that the Force required him to refuse and duty compelled to him to obey.

"You have to open us a way." Senior General Yijl said, her eyes firmly set into his, her voice bringing the full might of her implication to bear. "No matter the cost. I trust you understand me."

Temaren wanted to refuse, to say no.

For a moment he just breathed, expanding himself in the Force.

More pinpoints of light in the Force disappeared off the face of the planet.

He opened his eyes, ignoring CT-4-1609's heavy stare.

"Yes, Grand Master." He agreed, simply, reverting to the simple form of address he had once had for his Master's Master.

The Force _shrieked_.

 _Forgive me._ He told the unfathomable, swelling It. _We live to serve._

 

* * *

 

CT-4-1609 didn't leave.

Not when Temaren ordered the other Jedi on the ship to take the fighters and rejoin with General Yijl's ship. 

Not when Temaren stood in front of his non-necessary troops and ordered them to leave. 

Not when Temaren accepted the fealty of his skeleton crew, all of them knowing that it meant sure death to stay with him. 

Not when Temaren cut off all communications as other officers started calling in from the other ships to ask what the hell was he doing, why was he moving forward still. 

Temaren had ordered him to coordinate the evacuation efforts of non-necessary personnel and then leave, but instead he was still there when he gave the "Full thrusters, forward." order.

 

* * *

 

CT-4-1609 watched his General lean forward in the console, cheek bleeding profusely from the piece of durasteel that had come unmoored from a console and nearly cleaved his head off. That same piece had also broken enough of the visor off that the General had dispensed with it, one that he now realized his General had never needed, given that he had no eyes to speak of, just smooth dark skin where they should have been.

His shoulder length white hair had come undone and, freckled with blood, whipped around his face, tossed about by the same invisible gale that was holding together the bridge itself, in a shimmering bubble.

Most of their ship was gone, but they still had their engines and were close enough to passing the brigade that if they made the last push they would not only crash through but the gravitational pull would do the job of pulling them through the second layers of clankers ship.

He should have been looking forward, just like his General was faced forward, but he couldn't. He hadn't disobeyed direct orders just out of loyalty, though that would have been enough for him to throw his lot in with his General, but because the moment his General had agreed to do this, he had felt pressure bearing down to him with one single, crystalline order.

 _WITNESS_.

And so he did.

 

* * *

 

Temaren's nails had splintered, so tight he was holding on the projector table. He was distantly aware of it, his own physical pain nothing when compared to the feeling of lives extinguished all arounn him, by his will and his act.

He would have gone alone, if he could have piloted the Star Destroyer on his own, spared them all having to follow him down into this, entrusted them into Grand-Master Yijl's hands, but he just didn't have the fine tune control necessary to operate all stations on his own.

He had once aimed for it, to become the kind of Jedi so strong and deep in the Force that he could sink into a moving meditation so strong to allow him to manage more objects at once while also keeping his concentration in the now.

He let it go.

He let everything about himself go.

He surrendered himself and accepted whatever power the Force saw fit to bestow on him.

He came unmoored from his body, one with the Force, and in the blazing light of it he could see all the lives he still held in his hands on this ship. 

He could now feel just how strongly the Force ran into CT-4-1609, something he'd always hidden from himself before. How the man had chosen _him_ above all else.

 _I would have taught you_ he murmured to his potential apprentice and kissed his forehead as they plunged down, into darkness and oblivion.

 

* * *

 

The ship held together when it shouldn't have, a blazing light shining from the cockpit as the Coruscant's Heart crashed into the enemy lines and broke through the first layer and then the second one, the gravity pull taking a hold of the ship and dragging it down when the thrusters finally gave up and died.

"Follow it through, we will take advantage of that foolish boy's sacrifice." Senior General Yijl ordered Commander Razor. Her old, mottled hands wrapped around the head of her cane as her dark eyes watched her grand-padawan succeed where anyone else in her fleet would have failed.

It had been the right sacrifice to make, one that now had assured them a way in, to bring down the ground armies on Teddla and relief to the starving millions that had been dying in front of their own eyes.

Jedi lived to serve.

Jedi also died to serve.

 

* * *

 

The General glowed so bright CT-4-1609 had difficulty seeing him anymore.

 

* * *

 

There was a hand on his forehead, familiar in its texture and feel.

"Grand-master." He murmured, voice hoarse, fighting against the pain that moving his facial muscles caused the healing wound on his cheek to try and smile up at her.

He had made it throught the blockade.

"You foolish boy." She chided, coldly. "What you did saved the lives of the Ahk, but why did you go against the Council's orders? All of those brave troopers that remained with you died, all because of your ego and folly. You are lucky the Force came to your aid nonetheless."

Temaren couldn't understand.

He _had_ executed his orders.

"No, you didn't." Grand-master Yijl replied and Temaren felt her will impose on his, willing him to repeat the words after her. 

He struggled against it, a cry rising from the depth of himself only to be smothered into a choking sound by the pressure she bore on his tired mind. He tried still and then he felt himself slip deep.

"No, I didn't." He thought he might have said and then everything went black again.

 

* * *

 

He knew that what he'd done, he'd done because of orders.

He would have never went against the will of the Council.

"-- only natural that someone as attuned with the Force as Knight Sill, and as young as he is at twenty-four standard years, would feel that the loss of more lives was untenable. I do not think he should be punished for his actions, who did allow us to break through the full-planet blockade and finally bring our force to bear." Grand-master Yijl was saying.

They kept talking, back and forth, her and the holo-blue images of the Councilors, deciding of his life as though he wasn't standing right there, next to his Senior General.

When they finally turned to him, he opened his mouth, ready and willing to explain himself. To tell them that he had followed his orders. That despite facts showed he had evacuated the bridge before listening to the General's message and then proceeded to evacuate non-necessary crew members in preparation for the assault it hadn't been because of his own decision or to try and cover his own back.

Pressure bore down on him, from inside his own mind, squeezing everything down and away, locking it where it couldn't be open and let out, not now and not ever again.

 _Silence, silence, silence_ the pressure chanted, _silence young one_.

"It was the will of the Force." He heard himself say and it was only because he lacked lacrimary ducts that tears didn't stain his cheeks as he gave in and let the untruth that had been coached into his mind slip out.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While not all of the chapters will be in straightforward chronological order, I will let readers know where a chapter is placed, compared to the others.
> 
> This one follows the first one, though with a few days separating them.
> 
> This is, for the moment, unbetaed.

"It appears that if your last name isn't Skywalker and you are not part of one of Kenobi's system armies, then no leeway for original thought is given." Grand-Master Yijl said, fastidiously straightening his belt and pressing a hand down on his chest, to make his tunic lie flat. "I wish we could have been stationed under Councilor Kenobi or Councilor Piell, but it wasn't to be."

He could feel her displeasure crashing like waves against his uncertain mind, making him shiver, the taste of bile rising in his mouth. He smothered it, down, refusing to sick up in front of her.

"I am sorry to lose you to the Temple, but it might just be a temporary benching. Long enough to prove you are not suicidal, High General Eeth Koth said." Her displeasure crested in near-anger at the name and then fluttered away, released in the Force and detached from her, replaced by calm acceptance.

"As if my padawan would have ever raised someone to be suicidal. We are not of the late Master _Jinn_ 's ilk." She still scoffed after a moment, straightening his cloack and checking his collar, before she stepped back with an approving nod. "Now you look like a proper Knight."

He said nothing, felt like he had nothing to say, to her or to anyone else. He hadn't felt quite the same since he had brought the Coruscant's Heart down through the blockade.

He had followed orders.

The pressure came down on him again.

It had been the will of the Force.

Not.

A spike of pain went through his brain and he bore it, pressure squeezing harder and harder until he accepted that it had been the will of the Force. Nothing more, nothing less.

"Thank you, Grand-Master." He forced himself to say, bowing to the exact length someone of her standing, experience and position relative to him deserved. She would not accept anything more nor anything less. Neither had his Master.

She waited for him to rise up again and raised her right hand.

He dipped his head and felt it come down rest on his hair. It disquieted him, deep inside his own self, but he silenced the need to rear back and away from her touch and dutifully submitted to her.

"Halarasan would be proud of you." She intoned.

He brought the words into his heart, to warm it with the knowledge that his Master wouldn't have frowned down at him. They had always been in exquisite agreement, his Master and Grand-Master.

"I am proud of you." She acknowledged.

It made him feel cold, chilled the fire that he had been banking like a swift snowy gale. He tried and failed to understand why. Her approval mattered, more than anyone else. She was all that was left of his teaching line, heading back all the way to the well known Master Isshabalin, two centuries before the Ruusan Reformation.

So why was his soul screaming at his mind?

If his Grand-Master, Senior General Yijl of the Grand Army of the Republic under the auspices of the Jedi Order, noticed his discomfort, she made no mention or reprimand of it.

"Go and may the Force be with you." She blessed.

"And with you as well." He wished back.

He meant it, honestly, and at the same time he didn't mean it at all, as though he had somehow become two people in one. He felt as if a howling, twisting, writhing _thing_ had been caged within his mind, shrieking for release and attempting to rip away at him and to twist his words and actions in something much different.

He couldn't fathom where it had come from.

As he stepped back and straightened, turning to join his escort to Coruscant on the shuttle the High Council had sent, he resolved to meditate on it on the way back.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set a few months after chapter 2

His face was going to forever bear the mark of his folly, the healer who first saw him had seen fit to report.

A twistered, puckered scar on the side of it, a honest and kinder healer tells him at the Temple when he asks hir what it looks like. It makes his cheek feel strange and tight, but he doesn't mind it. It is nothing compared to what the Force shows him of those who surround him when he goes to see the Temple Healers for his check-up.

Miehe Wran, who used to be a crecheling with him, sits down next to him one day at dinner.

Temaren is not sure how long it's been since he's come back to the Temple, his days blending in an endless cycle of meditation in the gardens with Master E'La, saber practice and Force control exercises in the training salles, visits to mind Healer Tan who for some reason is not letting him go yet and likes to speak of the day to day life of the Temple with him and infirmary check-ups.

From the knee down it's as if Miehe's legs don't exist anymore in the Force. He can hear the whirring of droid parts and feel out the faint outline of what must be implants, but Miehe's true legs have already joined in the Force, ahead of the rest of him.

There's also something different inside of him, a second Force-signature of sorts animating the living tissue of Miehe's left lung that feels terribly familiar but Temaren can't exact place.

"Miehe." He aknowledges.

"Temaren." Miehe replies, voice pleasant. "Heard you made it to Legion General, before they decided to dump you back home for suicidally successsfull heroics."

"They don't pay off, unless your name is Skywalker." Temaren scoffs, his Grand Master's voice echoing in his hears with her own distaste. He doesn't think much about the war or about what he did. He gets wicked headaches when he did.

He was told that both those pangs and the holes he has in his memory regarding the Teddla Blockade, as it's gone down in the books, are a normal effect of both the trauma of getting through the blockade and channeling the Force to the extent he did and letting himself become one with it.

He is not sure, but whenever he questions it, his head starts aching wickedly. _It Was The Force's Will_ he whispers dutifully, when the first pains start slipping in.

"How far up the chain of command did you get?" He asks, not sure if he should approach the argument, but trusting that Miehe wouldn't have introduced it if he hadn't wanted to talk about it.

"Corps General and then we had a run in with Ventress." Miehe says, with an ease that rang false in the Force. "What was left of my 373rd has been re-assigned and I was moved here to do physical therapy and see what may be salvageable of my Djem So capabilities."

Miehe had always played to type, going the Djem So as soon as it had become clear that he was going to grow to be around 6 feet and built like a wall. Temaren, being far more athletic in build than his crechemate had welcomed his Master's teachings of Makashi.

At Grand Master Yijl's bidding he had expandend on them learning Soresu in the aftermath of Geonosis, where enough blaster bolts had gotten past his defense and clipped him that he would have died without the presence of the trooper medics. He disliked it though, preferring the purity of the Makashi form if at all possibile.

Temaren nodded to him and then lapsed on him, refocusing on his food and starting to eat his stew quietly. He didn't know why Miehe had chosen to approach him and he didn't really much care either.

"I'm taking a couple of friends I've made in the healing wings out, tonight. Wanna come with?" Miehe asked after a few minutes of silence.

Temaren blinked, confused, and then looked up at Miehe, brows furrowing. "Why?" He asked, uncertain as to where the invitation was coming from. They'd never been especially close, the two of them, and it wasn't like they had talked at all since that last time on the transport to Geonosis.

"Why not?" Miehe replied, evading his question and giving a careless shrug of his shoulders that wasn't careless at all. "If you want to come, we'll meet at the front entrance of the Temple at the end of the tenth hour of the evening."

Temaren blinked again as Miehe gathered his tray and left, with a friendly wave. This was unexpected. Not unwelcome, but unexpected nonetheless.

He thought about it as he finished his dinner.

He wasn't under any curfew, as a Knight, though he did have to sign himself in and out and keep an active communicator on himself at all times he wasn't with a Master. Which wouldn't be a problem, during a simple outing with some fellow Knights.

It might even get Mind Healer Tan off his case about the necessity of reconnecting with the Order around him, as the time spent with Master E'La and whoever was willing to spar in the training salles apparently wasn't enough.

* * *

Remembering that Miehe had enjoyed having outings in places where Jedi were either unwelcome or wouldn't wish to be seen in, he curled his white hair in a knot on the top of his head and used the comb Master Halarasan had gifted him for his sixteenth birthday to keep them in place.

He wrapped the lightsaber older around his right arm and tightened the belts as much as he could so that it would stay on, sliding his lightsaber in and trying the catch and release mechanism three times before he was satisfied with it.

He chose one of the few shirts he had kept over the years, from the various assignments he and his Master had to undergo under other identities, and slid it on, relieved to see that it still fit. He tugged on the loose sleves that ended at the wrist, checking that they would allow him room for movement withouth impeding him, and then smoothed it down where it hugged his chest and waist.

Around his waist, he wrapped a sash that had been outfitted with inner pouches. The supplies he had stashed within were still good for a few years and included little batca patches and more first aid instruments, along with a good set of lockpicks and a slicer, leaving only a couple of them empty.

He doubted he would need any of it, but there was no harm in being prepared, he decided and left the objects in their pouches.

He chose a pair of fastidiously tight leather pants, not that he had much choice as everything else he owned was either Jedi standard or rather ceremonial, and spent a good half minute hopping up and down while keeping his breath still in his lungs to get them up in place.

Another minute after that was spent sprawled on his bed, relearning how to breath while wearing the horrible things, before he could get up and, wincing, made a few laps of his room to check the elasticity and freedom of movement. They weren't as good as his usual clothes, but it was going to do for the night, he decided after a while.

As a last touch, he took down his visor and changed it for the slightly wider black one that looked less like the covering that it was and more like, according to Yalla who had gifted it to him, a very stylish hud visor.

Grimacing one last time at how tight the pants were pressing down on his skin, he nodded to himself and took out of his closet his cloack, wrapping it over his body and hiding everything from sight. He didn't fancy passing by anyone in the temple while dressed like _that_.

* * *

Miehe was already there when he reached the entrance of the temple, in company of two younger Knights. Temaren didn't know either of them, but he could feel in the resonance of their presence that they were kindred spirits to Miehe, one female and one male and both of them missing limbs too.

"Ah, Temaren!" Miehe called, pleased with his arrival. "I hope you have actual non-temple clothes under your cloack. We are heading to the lower levels."

"I know the direction in which your tastes run, Miehe." Temaren replied, simply, giving a nod in the direction of the other two Knights. "I am Knight Temaren Sill." He introduced himself, bowing respectfully to them.

"Temaren has not yet decided which path suits him best and so he voluntarily choses to be Undeclared." Miehe explained, before either of his friends could ask, if so they were inclined. He doubted the female would have, but he wasn't as sure as to the male of the two.

"Knight Watchman Garen Shott." The male introduced himself. His left arm was completely gone, loped off at the shoulder as his left leg had been at half-thigh, both of them now substituted for by robotic limbs. He felt as if he had some rotting evil within that was being barely contained to his back. "I knew of your Master through mine. His loss is keenly sent by our files."

"As by all us." Temaren replied, bowing again. Watchman wasn't a commonly walked path and he wondered what system Shott had pledged himself to that he'd given his limbs and health for. He chose not to ask, not wanting to dredge up hard memories.

"Knight Peacekeeper Rea'Vil, formerly of the 44th." The female one identified herself, the low throatiness of her voice masculine more than feminine in cadence. Attachment ran strong through her, to whatever unit the 44th had been and to much more than Temaren didnt' feel he could fathom and wasn't sure he wanted to try to identify.

He hadn't thought about his troopers at all, he realized. He couldn't remember them clearly, couldn't even remember who his Commander had been. Rea'Vil made it sound important but when he tried to think back to the number of his unit, to their identities, memories slipped from his hands like droplets of water.

He frowned, only in his own mind, and resolved to meditate on it with Master E'La, the next day. "A honor it is, to meet Miehe's friends." He replied, courteously, bowing to her too.

"You're about the only one who thinks it's a honor to meet any of us." Shott replied, his voice curling around the words with a disdain that felt more aimed at the Temple in it's entirety than to Temaren himself.

He was brimming with rage, Temaren realized with a sudden jolt of understanding. So much of it that it felt as if no space had been left for anything else and yet so natural in him that he had felt to notice it in the beginning. It wasn't Dark, not yet, but it was so level and so entrenched that it felt like a state of calm and not the upheaval of any anger he'd seen so far.

It felt almost as if anger was the natural state Shott lived into, clear and serene in ways Temaren had never knew such a powerful and dark feeling could be. It was _fascinating_.

"Peace Garen." Miehe asked. "Not on the Temple's steps."

"As if I care." Garen replied, with a disdain that was much more tempered from the one of his previous statement.

Still, he grew silent and said nothing more as they headed down the steps, their four cloacks brushing on the stone as they went, lapsing into silence as they headed for the nearby taxi station.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set three months and four days after the previous one, one month and eleven days before the news report on Palpatine breaks.
> 
> Unbetaed, may be subject to changes because of later betaing (or the author's brain going 'wtf correct that horror there why does this stuff never come up when we are re-reading it?')
> 
> Warning for dark themes still apply with a now added warning for terminal illness and implied impeding character death (not Temaren's)

Temaren leaned back in the filthy booth and stretched his legs out.

He could see Miehe in the crowd pit in front of the stage, headbanging in rhythm to the music and making his long hair flair all around, and Rea'Vil a few meters behind, pressed in the undulating throng and dancing with her eyes closed and her mind open, to submerge herself in the mob and lose as much sense of self she could without joining with the Force.

Garen was smoking one of his cherry-scented smoke-sticks, his hand curled around his glass of Corellian whiskey, looking not so much at the crowd as he was at the yes-made-of-actual-flimsi notebook Temaren had passed him.

 _Well, aren't you suddenly interesting?_ He commented, sending the thought over to him, since the music was far too loud for them to communicate through words. _There is something that speaks to me, here. Could use some tweaking, but you ought to ask Rea'Vil, when she's done stringing herself out on emotions._

 _I'm more awake now._ Temaril replied, keeping his boots firmly on the floor and enjoying the way the vibration from the band on stage traveled through the floor and up through his body.

It was an understatement, of course, but they all were masters of the understatement. Garen was 'just a little angry', Miehe was 'only vaguely reactionary' and Rea'Vil had just had a 'friendly connection' to her Rappel. He had settled on 'more awake' as his understatemente of choice as soon as he'd heard a healer tell him that he looked that way.

One could say that he was, after all.

From a certain point of view.

Or one could say that he had felt the death of his Grand Master reverberate through the galaxy and that said death had snapped the compulsion she'd set on his mind ('only for as long as I will be useful to the war effort, than I will remove it or it will remove itself') to keep him subdued.

The thing that made him angrier, and oh weren't there a lot of them?, was that she had never bothered to stop and think that he would have accepted responsability for his actions. That he would have _understood_ that she was doing what needed to be done and allowed himself to be shunted aside while she kept on.

Just because he was Undeclared, not a Watchman like Master Halarasan or a Shadow like she had been, it didn't mean that he was disloyal or that he was unable to understand the concept of black operations and giving the High Council plausible deniability. That he didn't know that this war was going to need sacrifices and that he would have let her disavow him without complaint.

It had been one of the fundamental tenents of how he had been _raised_ , kriffing hells!

Miehe thought it was stupid, to be angrier at his honor and loyalty being insulted than at the betrayal of having a mind compulsion placed on mind, but Miehe was also from a teaching line that abhorred mind tricks at all, considering them unacceptable violations of another being's free will and a show of one's inability to make their reasons prevail.

They had debated on the subject a long time and he had no desire to think back on it now, so he just raised his glass and drank the absolutely terrible liquor in it.

 _I'll ask her._ He conceded, when he realized he had let more than a minute pass in silence. It made him startle a bit and then sigh, putting down his glass and rubbing his hand on his face. _Sorry. I seem to be in a maudling mood._ He apologized to Garen.

 _Which one of us isn't?_ Garen countered, with generous snark, taking a long drag from his smoke-stick and blowing out a ring of smoke. Temaren reached out with the Force and gently made it curl in the shape of a star destroyer.

Garen snorted and nudged it into becoming a rather crude hand gesture.

Temaren laughed and then turned his head to the side, watching Garen fondly through his Force-sense. The infection had spread so far that there was little for it left to eat away, but he didn't let that bother him. Garen had decided it didn't bother him and Temaren had yielded to his choice.

 _I am going to miss you._ He said, softly.

 _Damn._ Garen replied, turning to look at him, something like surprise flitting through his Force signature. _You really are maudling tonight_.

 _I did tell you._ Temaren shrugged and then straightened, suddenly feeling like some sort of limit had been passed while he looked in Garen's eyes and felt the illness wriggling further in his body, stealing Garen's whole future from him. He didn't know which one and he didn't care right now. He could always meditate on it later on. _Come on, let me taste that thing._ He asked, extending his hand.

 _Huh. Sure._ He agreed, furrowing his brow as he passed the sleek, black smoke-stick over. Temaren felt like someone had just shined a light on things he had tried to put together but couldn't before. Things about Garen and the life he'd lived, all the things he'd done and hadn't deserved to have to him. All the things he'd denied himself and was angry about but was still trapped into denying to himself.

 _Way I see it._ Temaren said, slipping the smoke-stick between his lips and filling his mouth with the deep, sour-sweet taste of it. _You've only got a couple of days left to live, at best. So, we should say kriff to everything and just do whatever you've always wanted to do but didn't feel like you could do and then on your last day you can be the most proper Jedi to die ever, until some cosmic event manages to kick Kenobi in the Force._

Garen looked caught off guard, like he'd never even thought about it, for all of his rage to their superiors and to the world at large. He looked vulnerable, like a kid being offered a parsifah cake and not sure it wasn't going to be snatched away from him for a lesson. It made Temaren want to reach out and wrap him in a hug.

 _As you always say, it's not like the other Jedi give two approving kriffs about us anyway._ Temaren pointed out, motioning with the deathstick to Rea'Vil on the dance floor, to Miehe who was roaring along with a song that was basically composed by the words 'anger' and 'kriff you all' in various combinations. _And we don't have to tell anyone. I'll cover for you. What the kriff, we're already doing stuff we'd end up in front of the Council for._

 _Yes._ Garen agreed, cautiously. _But it's not on par with ... well._

Temaren waited, giving him the time to get the courage to come up with whatever it was that he wanted. He had a pretty good idea of it, because Watchman were some of the hardest in coming down on attachments and even casual relationships, when raising their padawans.

Not that Temaren felt like he cared much, right now.

Not in a world where the Temple was full of younglings, old masters and crippled. Not in a world where the Order he'd known growing up was slowly disintegrating into dust and dead bodies while the Senate debated on and the Separatists sat in their comfy houses and threw droids at their problems.

Not in a world where Grand Masters turned against Grand Padawans they ought to have trusted and layered mind compulsions on them and the thrice-kriffed High Council couldn't be bothered to schedule said Grand Padawan in to check on him because a war was going on, but had always time to come down hard on those who failed to live to their expectations. All while Skywalker mouthed off unpunished, was invested General of a brigade but given the leeway of a High General, was sent a padawan to raise in the middle of the war and then also had the time to go to parties held by his pet Senator Amidala or visit his Supreme Chancellor.

Fuck being upbraided by the Council. Even if they ever found out, they could schedule him in when the war was done and come bitch at him in five or ten years or whenever he rated as worthy of their attention again.

He took a deep drag from the smoke-stick.

Garen didn't say anything, but he did allow himself to look. His gaze slid down on Temaren's body, stopping at his thighs and lingering there for a few long seconds, before sliding to his crotch and then, immediately and with embarassment flaring in his Force-presence, upward still, over his chest, to linger on his throat and mouth.

 _You can have me, Garen._ Temaren offered him, feeling his own voice gentle. He was a bit surprised to find out that _he_ was the object of Garen's attention, having always figured Miehe was more Garen's type, but he wasn't about to begrudge Garen this or deny him. He meant his offer sincerely.

Garen hesitated, one of the few times that Temaren had seen him be unsure of what to do in the couple of months they had known each other, and then, slowly, reached out with his hand for Temaren's.

 _We will be still Jedi afterwards, we will still be us._ Temaren promised, knowing his words to be true, and took Garen's hand in his own, squeezing his fingers gently. It made Garen gasp, a sound that Temaren couldn't hear though he could see his friend's mouth fall open, and he wondered how long Garen had gone without touch.

 _Only what you want, Garen._ He swore, getting up and guiding the other man up with him as he went, just by not letting go of his hand.

He sent a spark of warning to Miehe, to let him know that they were leaving and someone had to come keep the table, as they were taking their coats. Force lifted his notebook, sliding it in the back of his sash where it was safe, and then left without looking back, guiding a quiet and awe-struck Garen with himself.

This wasn't a place for Garen to spend his last few nights in.

Coruscant wasn't a place for Garen to die on, either.

He decided that he was going to do something about that too.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Immediately follow chapter 4. No time elapsed between them.
> 
> Same warnings apply.
> 
> Unbetaed.

They broke into the Coruscant Hovering Gardens exhibition

.

To get there they Atarued their way through the roofs of the city until they came beneath the massive flying museum and within Force Jump reach of the underbelly of the ship. They had to let go of each other's hand, to press their palms against the ship and hook themselves in the tiny grooves between the plates with their telekinesis, but they both knew it was only a temporary separation of skin. It was necessary, as they started to scale the outside of the ship, imitating Rassilian phorans and keeping themselves pressed tight around the surface.

Garen, who had seemed to have lost all of his reticence once Temaren had suggested putting his Ataru at good use to move fast and undetected through the heights of Coruscant, produced a tiny slicer padd from inside his jacket and laughed, soft and wicked, as he sliced into the programs of the museum and downloaded a map for them.

Slipping past the night patrol was almost insultingly easy. They did it holding hands, Garen's finger twined to Temaren's own as he looked above them. It felt as if a soft feeling of delighted wonder, one that had secretly burrowed like a seed within the calm rage he lived with, had started to unfurl, shyly and tentatively.

It made Temaren's chest feel tighter and a feeling like crying swell from the deeps of himself. He realized, after a moment, that there would have been tears in his eyes, if he'd had eyes to cry with.

"This way." Garen whispered, checking his map, and drew him through the Outer Rim exhibitions and into the Mid Rim ones. They walked through the Kashyyk woods and the Rodia swamp, among other bio-ambients he didn't recognized, and finally, came to a halt in what felt like a field of grass and flowers, with the distant sound of a river echoing in their ears.

 _Naboo._ Garen said, a soft wistfulness sneaking into his anger. _I have never been there. It's traditional, for some, but my master didn't believe it to be necessary, for me to visit a family that wasn't my own anymore._

Well that explained some of the somewhat unreasonable hang ups Garen had shown himself to have regarding the close friendship slash potential relationship between Skywalker and Senator Amidala. He'd been vitriolic about it, more than his usual.

He let Garen decide what to do, allowing him to draw him down the side of a slop, until they were out of sight from any potential patrol, and then lying down with him in the grass, breathing in the scent of the flowers that were blooming all around them.

 _May I take your visor off?_ Garen asked, in a soft, careful whisper.

Temaren kept himself from startling away, but it was a close thing.

He had been taught, since he could remember, to always keep it on if at all possible, as the smooth skin where his eyes would have been, if he'd ever had any, was unsettling to most other species. His own Master had only seen him once without it and it had been in the wake of a terrorist assault. Even then, even Master Halarasan had hastened to fashion a bandage from a strip of cloth, helping him hide the upper part of his face again.

He would have usually just refused, but this was Garen. A trusted friend, a dying friend, a friend who was looking at him without pithy or curiosity. A -- a beloved friend, he realized now and that was more shocking than being asked to remove a physical object from his body.

 _Yes._ He managed to get out and he was glad he didn't have to speak out loud or, he knew, it would have come out strangled and full of the shock that he was feeling, as the knowledge sunk down in him. Garen was his beloved friend.

No.

Garen was _his beloved_.

 _You are projecting._ Garen's voice was a whisper, gentle and warm, his force signature blooming blindingly in the Force as he reached out and unlocked the sides of the visor, sliding it away and leaning forward, to press his warm lips to the smooth, paler skin that it had hid. _You are my beloved too._


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The War-Cut Braids take the stage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Takes place at least a month and a half after chapter 5.
> 
> Unbeated and written while fueled by rock music.

It started off with just Temaren and the ten stringed zemlen Garen had 'acquired' for him, strumming out and humming softly as he tried to arrange the images in his head into words and the feelings in sounds, in their section of the security pipes.

Rea'Vil and Miehe didn't seem to much care for it, at least as far as he could guess. He had no real idea why until Rea'Vil snatched the notebook from where he was keeping it hovering and glowered at him.

"You are really good with that Zemlen but your singing kriffing sucks." She informed him and then looked down at the words, frowning. "From the top on." She ordered.

Amused, Temaren checked the tighteness of the strings and then obliged her.

Her voice was low, hoarse and pissed off, rattling out the lyrics to the beat like she was trying to eat them out of spite. Grief and rage and some black drops of budding hate all poured out of her and wrapped around the sounds, making them feel like knives aimed at Temaren, whom she was standing in front of.

It felt like a missing piece clicking into it's home.

* * *

Miehe brought his arkonian drums, the whole six pieces set, and added a low, thrumming base to what Temaren was playing and Rea'Vil was singing.

The songs they reworked together to claw out their rage and pain and throw them out in the air, releasing them like they weren't managing through meditation.

Miehe also brought them Row, who played a Zemlen bass and had almost been tried for treason, for knocking out his General after being forced to watch his whole company being sent to die, against his will, in a trap that didn't even need to be sprung.

"He's on Mind Healer and Meditation heavy duty rotation, like me." Miehe explained, because neither Temaren nor Rea'Vil spoke wookie. "Apparently he did a howl version of a Force Scream, so he's on the potential-Dark-Side-Fell watchlist. That's how he got the drop on Krell."

Rea'Vil spit to the side at the name.

Temaren raised an eyebrow at her.

"Worked with that Sith-spawn for the length of a battle." She replied and Rowl howled in agreement. "He's one of those who thinks clones are just meat clankers."

Miehe gargled something that sounded suspiciously like Huttese.

Temaren added his own collection of heartfelt Kepta curses, the ones Garen had liked most.

Rowl's aura told Temaren that the wookiee was probably grinning at them.

It turned out he played a hell of a Zemlen bass and that he was not at all opposed to howling in the background to add to their chorus.

* * *

Rea'Vil found Trant in her ocular therapy session.

Trant's hearing was half shot, on top of having his eyes replaced, but he had Mon Calamari-specific hearing aids that apparently made it a-okay for him to hear. Whatever worked, Temaren supposed.

He also wore tiers of beads around his neck that he had personally carved with the numbers and names of his troops, one for bead. He'd gone down with his ship, during the Trench blockade, under Skywalker's command, before Kenobi brought in the stealth ship the other general had then used to break the blockade.

"Not that he was supposed to, I heard afterwards." Trant offered, with a shrug, after sharing about the nerve-wracking experience that had been being blind and not knowing if the pod his men had stuffed him into was going to make it to the ground or if they were going to be shot out of the sky.

"Not that Skywalker ever does what he's supposed to." He admitted, with a wry and amused grin.

It was a sticking point between them, that Tran actually _liked_ the Tattooinian son of a bantha. In the end Trant did agree that the press treatment of the Order sucked ass and they agreed back not to bitch about the guy if Trant was present. For the sake of common peace. 

Garen would have gone incandescent at having a Skywalker sympathizer in their ranks, but Trant was cool in Temaren's book. Someone saves everyone's asses enough times, it makes sense that sentient would grow on you. 

Kind of like a piece of hard-to-pry-off moss or some really toxic mold.

Temaren imagined he heard Garen laugh at that one and ducked his head to hide his own smile.

* * *

With Trant came One Eye, who tracked his former General down to bitch him out about disappearing on him only to stop at the entrance of their pipe, pole-axed by the sight of the Mon Calamari singing like a goddamn syren.

Trant was in counter point to Rea'Vil chewing gravel style, as the rest of them playing their heart out to "Did It Even Happen?"

* * *

It turned out clones know how to sing too and they can be pretty angry, even cantankerous in One Eye's case, and that's how they rounded their number out at six.

They were already calling themselves War-Cut Braids. They debated changing the name for all of fifteen seconds, only for One Eye to caustically inform them that had lost half of the braids he had kept his hair in when he'd lost his right eye.

War-Cut Braids it was.

* * *

Miehe hooked up with one of the places they went to listen music at, down in the depths of the 266th level of the Pleasure District, for open mic night.

Temaren temporarily dyed his hair black with purple ends and chooses to leave his visor at the Temple, putting on his leather pants to go with Garen's clone trooper boots and black leather jacket. He strapped a blaster to each thigh and forego the lightsaber.

Rea'Vil painted his face and gave him an image of it having become a trooper's bucket. She made it out in a metallic silver color, bearing both the red Naboo strips at the corner of his lips Garen had once worn and Temaren's 550th's acid green, in the shape of the jaig eyes One Eye had bestowed on him for his war deed.

One Eye wore his Phase One armor, bucket included, and helped Rea'Vil put on Rappel's old Phase One armor, sans the bucket, whereas Rowl made himself into a Silverbak wookie with Trant's help.

Miehe hadn't helped them sneak out the instruments, as he had been playing distraction to the Temple Guards. He arrived into full on Jedi attire, because he had always been the most brazen son of a bantha they had in their line-up.

They hadn't left the make-up last for nothing.

It gave something to do as the energy between them thrummed and build up to a frenzy, as they waited for the previous band to finish screaming their bland lines about being lonely and angry for losing their love.

They were pissing him off.

None of them had ever lost a beloved, Temaren could feel it in their auras. They were just playing what was popular, what they knew would net them a round of applauses and crowd approval.

Well, _fuck_ them and their bullshit.

"We are going to _destroy_ the competition." Rea'Vil said, out of nothing, and Rowl rumbled in agreement.

"We are gonna get troops on our ass for seditious songs." One Eye replied, happy to point it out for about the two hundreth time since they had decided to perform in public.

"Let 'em try." Miehe replied, sounding like he was baring his teeth, and this time Temaren was certain he heard Garen's laughing in glorious triumph somewhere in the Force.

* * *

They get through Did It Even Happen and Road to Victory just fine, throwing their emotions out in the air and at the crowd and the crowd soaking them up and throwing their own stirred emotions back at them.

Then Geonosis hits the floor and it's like a switch has been flipped, throwing Temaren right back in the arena, watching his Master go down. Rea'Vil is somewhere down by the entrance to the tunnels, standing over her Master's body, with Rowl just a couple of meters from her, furious that he can't just rip the droid to pieces. 

Tran is up high with the contingent that is following in Mace Windu's heels. Miehe is on the stands, back to back with Garen as they cover each other flaws and try not to get boxed in too fast. One Eye gives an upside visual of the arena in all of it's bloodless glory of carnage, coming in with the rest of the troops Grand Master Yoda decided to bring in.

The memory locks them together in a way it never did during practice and then spreads out, to the minds of all presents, civilian citizens and Knights in civilian clothes alike. 

It creates a loop of feedback between all of them, that makes Temaren dizzy from all the energy he can see building in the Force and exploding out of all of them in pure sound, irreprochable horror and the kind of righteous fury that is cleansing instead of tainting.

It's a thing of the Light, burning them to their core until there is no space left for the Dark to inhabit.

Dark Encroaching becomes a warning instead of a howl, and "You could end the war with it" becomes "You think you could end the war with it" of spontaneous and unplanned decision. 

_You think, because you don't know, you just feel like you do and that's where the pitfall lies._ Garen whispers in Temaren's ear, startling blue arms wrapping around him as he plays his zemlen so hard that he thinks one of his fingertips starts to bleed.

* * *

They are just finishing the howl of grief that is LIVE! when the door gets kicked in and a squad of red clone shock troopers muscles in, shouting words that get lost as Rea'Vil and Trant throw the last verse at them.

Rowl doesn't Force Howl, but that's only because Temaren reaches in him with the Force and paralizes his vocal chords, letting him make the motion but not the sound. They can't afford for him to do something that would let the shock troopers pin him down for this, especially since they went to the trouble of disguising him as a silverback.

They can feel more shock troopers coming in from the back door so instead of going to either side they grab their instruments and jump down, into the crowd.

They take a leaf out of Kenobi's play rules and book it through the windows, jumping out into the thin air like the kind of crazies they never thought they could be, Trant and Rowl's hands wrapped around One Eye's arms to take him with them.

They use the Force to slow down their fall and land unharmed seven levels down and, without even looking at each other, they jump again, down another four levels. Temaren takes lead as he starts weaving around buildings, calling the blasters out of their holsters and into his hands when they crash through a smuggler's meeting and have to fight their way out of it.

Rea'Vil throws up a wall of force energy that is not that dissimilar to a droideka shielding to reflect the blaster bolts back to the smugglers. They can all feel that she's never done it before, just acted on instinct and raised the shimering bubble around them, and well, who are they to question it since it worked?

It takes them ten seconds to tear the whole warehouse down, between the Force singing to them and their own battle instincts re-awakened from what feels like a long slumber. One Eye cackles like a loon as he delivers sweet, sweet violence and Miehe feels like he's not much beyond doing the same.

Temaren doesn't think he's ever felt more alive than now.


End file.
